Brian Malow

Both my parents smoked cigarettes while I was growing up, and I grew to dislike them (the cigarettes, not my parents).

I’m a non-smoker, but not a militant one. In fact, I think some of the smoking restrictions here in California are a little extreme. Maybe even comical.

My favorite example is the San Francisco airport. The only place you are allowed to smoke is in a special glassed-in room. It’s like a terrarium, in which you can view the smokers in a recreation of their natural habitat.

If you haven’t seen it, get to the airport; it’s worth the price of admission. They have a lounging area, and a pacing area (because the smokers need their exercise).

If you come at the right time, you might see a couple out basking on rocks, or fighting amongst themselves. Grooming each other. You see the parents bringing their kids up to read the little plaque: Homo emphysemas.

The only thing they don’t have is one of those coin-operated machines so you can buy cigarettes to toss out to the smokers. That would complete your zoo experience:

“Hey, check it out! He’s smoking the one I threw! Isn’t that cute? Oh my god, that male smoker is trying to mount that female smoker! They’re trying to make little smokers!”